


Heartbeat

by wouriqueen (MaggieBrown)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Resistance, F/M, Fights, Kissing, Making Out, injuries, some depiction of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 06:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4817780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieBrown/pseuds/wouriqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She inhales deeply, completely still on the battlefield, searching out one heart beat …<br/>Scott’s heart is like a metronome. Its beating is paced, regular like a clock. </p><p>or</p><p>Malia Tate fights under Scott McCall in the Resistance against the Quarantine laws and Senator Argent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartbeat

Malia takes cover behind a large tree, brow sweaty and heart hammering in her chest. There’s a bullet lodged in her left shoulder but she doesn’t have enough time to take it out. The enemy does not seem to have any intention to retreat, and despite their successes up until now, the coyote doubts her unit can last much longer. They’ve taken out most of their men but weapons tend to even out the most unbalanced of fights – especially weapons designed to kill people like them.

This was supposed to be a simple sabotage mission, with a maximum of five, maybe six soldiers to take down. They were informed a few trucks would pass by their area on their way to restock one of the military bases of the Health Division with medical supplies and weapons. Surprise the enemy, fight him, and seize the needed items: _that_ was the plan. After which, Scott and Malia were supposed to meet up someplace else with Scott’s friend, Grzegorz “Stiles” Stilinski, son of the Chief Police Jon Stilinski, and get the details she needed for her infiltration mission in his father’s department. Scott had only brought the whole crew this time because they would have needed people to carry the goods.

The shooting stops briefly and she takes advantage of it, lunging out of cover and throwing a clawed, bloody hand at the soldier who was shooting her. He blocks her attack with his weapon, but she pushes against cold metal and slices a gash open in his chest. The man – the boy, really, he looked younger than her – opens surprised eyes, gaping before the pain submerges him and he doubles over on the ground. An old, powerful instinct surges from her core, lighting up her nerves, tensing her muscles – killing before getting killed. Her fangs itch and ache in her mouth as if her body was desperate for a bite, desperate to crush the danger before it crushes her, to take pleasure in feeling life leave her enemy’s body and knowing she’s won. Malia feels it coming out, the animal in her, the one that has the law of the wildlife imprinted on its bones. She inhales deeply, completely still on the battlefield, searching out one heart beat …

Scott’s heart is like a metronome. Its beating is paced, regular like a clock. Malia steps away from the wounded boy slowly as her own heartbeat slows down and falls in sync with the alpha’s. She focuses on it, letting it resound in her head like a wordless mantra as she turns around and kicks another soldier in the sternum. Her body feels strong and light, what with all the adrenaline, and it sometimes takes a great deal of energy and concentration to not let her control slip away in such dire situations.

The coyote quickly looks around her as she makes her way further into the heart of the battle. Kira is moving easily between enemies, her speed and her small body definite advantages on such a messy, concentrated battlefield. The blade of her katana reflects the moonlight and if Malia squints, she can see flashes of the bright orange aura swirling in the air around her. On Malia’s left, in the shadow of the trees, Erica and Alicia are pulling their weight, cutting open soldiers without stopping despite their multiple wounds. A small smile graces Malia’s face – Alicia is strong like her brother, Vernon. However her smile fades as soon as she picks up Isaac’s roar on the right, close to the small, sinuous road. He’s fighting fiercely, roaring out over the Minister’s men’s shouts without any apparent care for the fact that it might draw even more of them out. There’s a distress to his voice, to the way he throws himself in the fray, and she realizes Scott’s heartbeat has gone irregular, pounding disorderly in his ribcage. Malia quickens her step, taking the hits coming at her without flinching and brutally shoving and clawing at anyone standing in her way, no matter if they’re wounded, running for their lives or dying, until she finds him.

He’s outnumbered.

A dozen of men have encircled her alpha and only fear stops them from executing him on the spot. Without a second thought, she charges into the group of enemies and bites into shoulders, claws into arms and chests and faces, roaring angrily and effectively scaring away the meekest. Her right arm bumps into Scott as they finally rejoin, and her body doesn’t need more than a second to slip back into their usual dynamic. Scott’s scent is comfort and _home home home_ , and it fuels her like nothing else. They fight together, her moves mirroring his as they’re pushed back and further away from the others. Neither of them has the luxury to worry about that though. The men in front of them are half-gone in mind, attacking them not with the fierceness of resolve and duty, or the relentlessness of hatred – but with the single-mindedness of fear. That is probably what Gerard – or Senator Argent – has been angling for since he had the Quarantine laws passed, getting all the known supernatural creatures killed or captured and sent in camps like the one Scott used to live in under the pretext of isolating a new, deadly virus. Most of the soldiers in the Special Health Surveillance division are regular soldiers, not hunters. They’ve been told about the supernatural and trained against it, but they only ever truly grasp it’s reality in such fights, when they come face to face with fangs and glowing eyes.

Fear is the most irrational of emotions.

There is no talking it out. Even Scott, who initially hoped he could gain some of them to their cause, has understood that. The second they _see_ them, which is inevitable if the McCall’s unit is going to defend themselves, the soldiers lose all ability to think past the fear. Fear of the monsters and fear of this new reality in which they are lost.

Their attackers keep on pushing, cornering them on the edge of a cliff. Malia eyes worriedly the cuts all over Scott’s body – some almost healed, some still deep with dark blood oozing from them – and the dark burn marks from their opponents’ electric rods. The wolfsbane bullet in her shoulder has started its nasty work, spreading its poison down her arm. Her head spins, slowing her reactions and allowing a soldier to cut a deep gash in her side with his blade. Her vision blurs – the species they used must be pretty efficient. Malia trips on her own feet, but strong arms catch her before she hits the ground. Her senses are overwhelmed by the smell of Scott, of his anger, his worry and frustration, the sound of his erratic breath, the feeling of his heart pounding in his chest and into her side. She feels him back away some more as bullets zings next to their heads and blades get _so close_ , making her skin prickles.

There’s a rush of wind and a feeling of vertigo as Scott jumps down the cliff with her in his arms. Malia hears roaring in the distance – Vernon, Derek, maybe some people from Satomi’s pack – and wishing they get there in time to save her comrades is all she can do before blacking out.

 

* * *

  

“Ungh!”

Malia wakes up to a faint smell of burnt flesh and the sharp, hot-white feeling of fire tearing into her shoulder. She can’t feel the bullet anymore. Her back is propped up against a humid and stony wall and the place is under-lit. It takes her a second but then it hits her when familiar scents fill her nose – this is her den. Her breath catches in her throat and her heart stutters as a rush of memories hit her, but she pushes it back down and blinks the tears away, purposefully not looking towards where she knows her blanket and her sister’s doll are hidden. She’s only been there with Scott once, but he remembers. Of course he remembers.

The boy – the man now, really – is next to her, holding the lighter close to her arm, deep brown eyes carefully monitoring her expression.

“Does it hurt?”

She throws him one ofher _looks_ , and he smiles playfully.

“I mean, is it too much?” He’s looking at her so attentively. Once upon a time, he’d spent so much time monitoring her like this, but the whirlwind that their lives has become rarely ever allows such quiet moments anymore.

She squirms a little in pain but shakes her head negatively. He tells her he’s been at it for an hour now because he doesn’t have a stronger flame than the lighter he keeps on him just in case. He’s weirdly calm, as if they hadn’t left Kira, Isaac, Erica and Alicia on their own on the battlefield.

“The others?” Her throat is dry and her voice scratchy.

“Probably safe now. I heard everything. Derek and the others ended the fight. They’re all alive, but Isaac –”, he stops for a second, inhaling deeply. “Isaac’s badly hurt though, so they all went back to the base for the time being”, he says as he turns off the lighter. The coyote sighs and rests her head back against the wall as the alpha wipes the sweat off her forehead. She focuses on her senses and realizes that indeed they’re not far from the fighting scene. She can smell the blood. With all that tension and adrenaline earlier, she hadn’t even noticed where they were. Once again, she lets Scott’s heartbeat fill her head and set the pace of her own body as it recovers from the poison. It’s impressive, this ability that he has to remain calm, to control himself despite hardships and unpredicted events – to not let fear and most of all resentment take him over. She’d noticed it back when he’d just turned her back into a human, when she could only sleep next to him because the primal link between an alpha and his beta was the closest thing to the feeling of wholeness she had as a coyote living in the woods. She used to think it was because he was an alpha, because of that extra spark of power she could feel in him.

She thought it was natural for someone like him.

Now she knows the struggle he has to face to be that man.

Scott shuffles, getting closer to her until their arms touch. She can hear his bones crack, can smell the blood. He probably cushioned her fall earlier, in typical Scott fashion – a pang of guilt twists the coyote’s gut. His eyebrows are furrowed as he undoubtedly thinks of Isaac and blames himself. When the alpha drops his hand absent-mindedly on the coyote’s knee, she grabs it, squeezes it.

“That wasn’t your fault.”

Malia’s not Scott’s first beta, but there are certain conversations Scott would not have with any of the others, even Isaac. He’s too fragile still, and somehow Scott feels it’s his responsibility to maintain a strong façade before him. Malia is different – she isn’t just a lost child. Innocence and guilt are tightly laced together around her bones, the blanket and doll in the back of the den a brutal reminder of that. She was the daughter of an egomaniac murderer and of an assassin who’d caused her to lose control and kill her adoptive family, a messy car crash she always tries not to think too much about. “Guilty” was written in her flesh, filled her pupils, clawed at her sanity so hard she abandoned human life in the hope she could escape it.

She hadn’t even regretted it.

She hadn’t regretted it even as some soldiers hunted her around the preserve, or when a sweet teenaged boy with warm brown eyes, the one who lived on the other side of an electrified grilled fence, had taken a liking to her. The boy was a chain-breaker – he broke the people out of their resignation, broke them out of the camp, so it was only natural that when he found her again, he set her free from the coyote. He changed her back but even after that and for a while, she’d felt no attraction for this humanity, foreign and sometimes nicer than she felt she deserved. (Guilt was still there, faithful companion, quieter now but ever present. Sometimes, when things were bad, she’d whisper into Malia’s ear about going back in the woods and hiding there forever.)

The point is that she _knows_ that look in Scott’s eyes when he blames himself – she knows it, because she’s seen it so many times in the mirror.

“You did all you could, you couldn’t have known.” She’s firm, devoid of any doubt.

A cringe twists the wolf’s features as he sadly ducks his head. “Scott – ” she calls insistently, taking his face in her hands, “what happened was completely unpredictable.” It’s the truth, and anger rises in her throat for a moment as she remembers the absurd way they almost died. Did Stiles betray them? She doesn’t want to believe it. Maybe he fucked up. Either that or he’s in trouble. A new wave of pain and dizziness submerges her as her body struggles to heal itself, chasing the anger away. Sighing, the coyote gathers the wolf against her. Scott lets her, chuckling despite him at the protectiveness she’s developed – a far cry from their first days together – then settling back into a comfortable silence. He presses his face into her neck, nosing at her jaw and scenting her. Malia relaxes, eyes delving into the colors of the night outside and the moonlight ricocheting on the stone walls inside.

Everybody has come to expect so much of the alpha. Not just their comrades back at the base, but many people across the country as well. Few know his face, however their unit has had significant successes and The True Alpha has quickly become one of the symbols of the resistance, of those who will not accept terror and stigma. It makes sense. Power and humanity. He was perfect for the cause.

It’s a lot of pressure though, and Scott tends to prioritize everyone else and internalize his own issues. Malia feels like because of that, his closest friends and relatives tend to forget it might be hard on him. The coyote has walked in their shoes so she knows it’s because they admire him. If it wasn’t for that one time Isaac got taken away, she’d still be like them. Instead, she’d seen Scott take the craziest risks to find the other wolf. She’d followed him, of course – he was her alpha. She’d followed him and seen him fall apart and lose hope. She’d seen the man behind the hero.

He’d seen her too, solid and attentive in the storm. He’d known he could trust her with his pain.

The coyote shivers against her the wolf. Moments like this one always stir something inside of her and she exhales a shaky breath as she remembers the powerful, hot want from early days, when she was still getting used to her new shape; the sweet ache of her heart later on whenever he smiled at her or touched her. She’d told him how she felt, but Scott’s heart still hung to the memory of a girl she has yet to meet. Then the hardships of the resistance have stood in the way of many a thing. However he’s always looking at her with so much affection that she can’t help but hope it means something more. She’s not going to beg, but she’s not going anywhere either.

It’s pretty hard to maintain that _status quo_ in the quietness of the night, though. She doesn’t have the same problem at the base, but here, everything feels … overwhelming. Too emotional, too raw. They have a balance and she doesn’t want to upset it, so Malia gives the alpha a light push to dislodge him. He pulls away, gauging for a moment her would-be neutral expression with curious eyes and a teasing smirk – she hates him – that dissolves into his trademark fond smile and gleaming eyes.

“I’m proud of you.”

It’s sudden and she doesn’t get it at first, his voice thick with emotion she’s still too tired to pick apart. He looks around him, eyes blazing red in the darkness. Maybe this place affects him as much as it does her. He’s still in pain, she can feel it. However, as the red melts back in deep brown – as he finds her eyes again, he doesn’t seem to mind. There’s another stretch of silence before he speaks again.

“You’re beautiful.”

His heart is throbbing softly in the quiet and Malia’s breath catches in her throat. It’s not that she’s not confident she can get what she wants, but she believes there are types of people. For instance, Scott’s type of woman until now – strong and sweet. Malia’s different. She’s the brawler, wild and unapologetic in many ways. People haven’t exactly been throwing that kind of compliments her way.

So she blinks at him, not knowing what to do when her body feels so warm, and she’s barely done making sense of what he said when she feels Scott’s lips on her neck.

Scott brushes his lips among her neck and up to her ear. He’s deliberately slow, feather-light touches on her skin, not even entering fully her space.

He’s asking permission.

There’s a moment when all Malia can hear are their two heartbeats and the sound of her breath coming in and out of her lungs, heavier with each intake of Scott’s scent. One of her hands goes up, tangling itself tightly in soft, dark strands of hair. The wolf sighs against her skin, and it sounds like relief and desire all at once, sending sparks throughout her flesh. There’s a vice squeezing her heart, her lungs. Scott gathers her in his arms so she’s straddling him, pressing his chest against her moaning in anticipation – and suddenly she’s clinging to him, dropping kisses on his jawline and his cheeks, lapping at his lips.

“Malia...” Scott’s voice is soft, shaky as he pulls back slightly, forehead brushing hers. They share air for a few seconds, the alpha obviously looking for the right words.

_Oh, Scott McCall._

Malia doesn’t believe there are any. As far as she’s concerned, there was always _something_. It was up to the wolf to engage on that road or not, and now that he has, no further time should be wasted.

Especially on _talking_.

So she takes his face in her hands and presses a chaste, sweet kiss on his lips, dark eyes finding his in a silent acknowledgement.

“Me too.” Whatever that was, they both felt it, and that was enough. She kisses him again, harder, engulfing her tongue in his mouth as soon as he opens it. It’s soft and warm, his hands strong and confident on her hips, and it’s such a far cry from that tumbling around she did with one of Satomi’s that Malia can’t help but giggle. That triggers something. Suddenly, the atmosphere isn’t so heavy – so intense anymore. Scott is smiling, and it’s _so bright_. It’s a smile you cannot _not_ return.

But they’re also _hungry_ , so she takes of his shirt and hers also, along with her bra. The coyote revels in the feel of his skin under her hands and his palms against her breasts and along her back, her thighs. He’s strong and loving and every nerve in her body is alight.

“Scott – _ah_. Wait. I need …” She sways them, making them roll on the side. Then she’s under him, her legs wrapped around his waist and the ground hard against her back. They kiss and it’s deep and slow – still, barely hot enough to distract them from the head-spinning pressure. They’re being greedy, they know that. It can’t go much further, not today. They’re healed enough for them to go back, and the forest is alive again with noises and movement. It could be enemies out to finish the job. It could be their comrades, looking for them or for their corpses. They have no idea how badly Isaac is hurt, and Malia knows it’ll keep gnawing at Scott’s brain until he can see him, hold him, take his pain.

Lights flicker outside, closer and closer to them.

Scott plants a kiss between her breasts.

Booted feet crush dead leaves and small branches in the woods, not more than fifty meters from them.

The alpha’s mouth is hot and wet on hers and Malia drags her hands in his hair possessively.

Unfamiliar voices reach them at last.

Adrenaline shoots up in both of their bodies as they finally scramble up, putting back their clothes and carefully moving outside of the den. The exhaustion is not gone, but there can’t be more than five soldiers outside. Scott kisses her lips one last time, breathing her in and out slowly, regaining his composure. Malia’s claws are already extended, eyes a bright blue, ready for the woman who surges from behind a bush and starts shooting arrows.

They dodge all of them. The beasts in them rise back up with angry roars and they lunge towards the soldiers, swift and sharp.

It’s bloody, heady, but Malia can _feel_ Scott’s steady pulse all the way into her veins, urging her to stay with him, and it’s all she needs.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A million thank you's to my adorable beta reader who puts up with my whining from thousands of miles away.  
> You can find her ["here."](http://www.cloudsandground.tumblr.com)
> 
> As for me, you can find me ["over here."](http://www.wouriqueen.tumblr.com)


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